Incoming Call
by Marcielle's Musings
Summary: "Come on Stiles, pick up, pick up," Scott cursed as he ran towards the high school. It was always the high school, too. Shit always happened at Beacon Hills High School - at night - when the fucking building was supposed to be locked - so people couldn't get in and get murdered by some supernatural freak-show. But y'know, shit happens (and Jeff Davis is the writer).


Summary: This ficlet was inspired by the amazing tsuminubiaru's Incoming Call art (see link within) and I just had to write something because it is amazing. Set after 3A before/in 3B. Incoming Call "Come on Stiles, pick up, pick up," Scott cursed as he ran towards the high school. It was always the high school, too. Shit always happened at Beacon Hills High School - at night - when the fucking building was supposed to be locked - so people couldn't get in and get murdered by some supernatural freak-show. But y'know, shit happens (and Jeff Davis is the writer). Notes: For . Inspired by Incoming Call by tsuminubiaru.

Work Text:

Have any of you seen tsuminubiaru's Incoming Call? Because Holy shit… it is just… there are not words to express - my vocal cords are broken and I'm here sitting just gaping like a fish… Wow, this is so amazing ~ Anyway I decided to write a ficlet for it because it was just so good.

**Incoming Call**

"Come on Stiles, pick up, pick up," Scott cursed as he ran towards the high school.

It was always the high school, too. Shit always happened at Beacon Hills High School - at night - when the fucking building was supposed to be locked - so people couldn't get in and get murdered by some supernatural freak-show. But y'know, shit happens (and Jeff Davis is the writer).

After five more rings the phone went to Stiles' voice-mail, "Hello you've reached the voice-mail of Stiles Stilinski for sarcasm press one, for help about a supernatural fiasco press two, if you're dying in some horribly tragic manner and need to be saved press three and if you just want to leave a message wait for the beep."

"Shit," Scott cursed and ran faster towards the school.

Earlier, Stiles had said he was going to hang out with Lydia after school to work on the bestiary so Scott had ignored the flurry of phone calls and texts that had descended upon his phone an two hours ago from Stiles, thinking it was just his friend calling to ask inane questions about werewolves.

It hadn't been until an hour ago, when he had gotten a frantic call from Lydia saying she had tried to call Stiles and he hadn't picked up and she was getting a bad feeling - that Scott had begun to worry.

After calling Stiles himself and receiving no response, Scott called the pack to ask them to help him find Stiles. It took a little convincing because a few of them said that he had probably just turned his phone off or left it somewhere - there's no need to get so worked up over Stilinski.

And for a moment Scott had hoped that they were right. After all there hadn't been any Supernatural creatures roaming about, murdering people for a few weeks now…

The hope that nothing had happened and that Stiles was just ignoring their calls dwindled down to ashes when Scott reached the Stilinski house to find Stiles' room a mess (more of a mess than it normally was). The window was shattered, there was what looked like scorch marks on the wall and there was mountain ash scattered all across the carpet.

The worst part - he could smell Stiles' blood and Peter.

Shit.

Stiles was in trouble. And all those calls, two fucking hours ago, had probably been Stiles trying to call for help. After all it's not like he can howl or scream for the rest of the pack.

So now Scott was running towards the school as fast as he could after having Danny trace where Stiles' phone was.

When Scott finally reached the school, the front doors were wide open, like an invitation.

"Stiles?!" Scott shouted.

The call echoed down the hallway but there was no reply.

Figuring it couldn't hurt, Scott dialled Stiles' cell again. Down the hall, he could hear a faint howling - Stiles ringtone for any of the wolves in the pack. His friend thought it was funny.

Sprinting down the hall, Scott sped around the corner, slammed into a locker and kept running towards the sound of Stiles phone.

Scott's claws and fangs came out the closer and closer he came to the boy's locker room where the sound of Stiles' phone was coming from.

"Stiles?!" Scott called out again as he burst through the door to the boys locker room. The thought that it might be a trap didn't occur to him. He just wanted to find his friend.

"You're too late Scott," a voice drawled from the shadows behind a set of lockers.

"Peter," Scott snarled at the older wolf, "What have you done with Stiles?! Where is he?! I swear if you've hurt him I'll-"

"You'll what, Scott?" Peter snapped, "You're nothing more than a freshly turned pup. You've been a werewolf for only a little more than a year. You're not a threat to me."

"We'll see about that," Scott smirked, "I distinctly remember killing you once before and if you've hurt Stiles in any way I'll have the pleasure of doing it again - though this time I'll make sure it's permanent."

Peter stepped out from behind the lockers, "That's not how I remember it. From what I can remember it was my darling nephew who slashed my throat and Stiles who set me alight."

Scott took a step forward, "So that's what this is? Revenge?! For killing you?! But you were killing people!"

"WHO DESERVED IT!" Peter roared, "In case your poor teen-aged mind can't remember, THEY MURDERED MY ENTIRE FAMILY! MY WIFE, MY DAUGHTER, MY SISTER, HER HUSBAND-"

"And then when you finally came out of your coma you killed your own niece!" Scott shouted back.

"Laura was never supposed to be the next Alpha. The position should have transferred to me but obviously I was to scarred and burned to be considered as the Alpha - but I've always been the Alpha one way or another," Peter smirked as his eyes flashed Alpha red.

Scott gaped, "But that's not possible - How?"

"Magic," Peter smirked, "Now, if I were you, I would run along. Stiles wasn't looking so good the last time I saw him."

"What have you done to Stiles?!" Scott roared and took a menacing step forward.

"Nothing he didn't want deep down. After all there's only so many times one can take being pushed to the side and being told to stand behind others because they are too weak," Peter drawled.

"What did you DO?!"

"Gave him the Bite of course," Peter grinned, "That fiery little spark is mine now. If the bite turns him, which I think it will, he will be my pup. And if for some reason it doesn't turn him - oh well, one down."

Scott's eyes widened, "No…"

"Oh, yes. After all, I owed the little Spark a little payback." Peter waved nonchalantly, "Goodbye, Scott. The next time I see you, Stiles will be tearing out your traitorous throat."

Peter sauntered past the dumb-struck Scott, "He's in the showers by the way - wasn't looking too good."

"Stiles," Scott whispered, paying no mind to Peter's exit, as he dashed forward to the showers.

And there he was - his best friend, lying on the cold tiles and curled up in a ball. there was a large gash on his forehead and a puddle of blood behind his head.

Scott rushed forward but he couldn't see any bite marks.

And then he saw it. There, on the back of Stiles' neck was a claiming bite…

Peter had bitten Stiles.

Stiles was going to turn… or die.


End file.
